


The Garden of Earthly Delights

by yourfearlessleader



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hargreeves Secret Garden Society, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Stomach Bulging, acid trip, klaus the family bicycle, mentions of Tentacles, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourfearlessleader/pseuds/yourfearlessleader
Summary: A summer set in an alternate universe where they're all sixteen and Five never left, there's a secret garden on the Hargreeves property, and Klaus uses it to his full advantage.Collection of individual works ft. Klaus and each of his siblings.





	1. Diego

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes I like my porn to be realistic and believably slotted into canon, other times it's this, pure suspension of disbelief~
> 
> a short, smutty, introspective something, playing with a few ideas
> 
> they're sixteen in this, but in that scene at the dinner table before Five leaves aren't they like thirteen?? whomst was giving a thirteen y/o weed :(

 

- 

 

They're dismissed for the day a few hours ahead of schedule. Allison and Luther unsurprising pair off and head back into the house, Vanya scurries in the other direction for the music room, Five disappears in his usual way to god knows where, and Ben mumbles something about not feeling well and excuses himself. Which leaves Klaus and Diego together in the courtyard.

 

Klaus shoves his mask into his pocket and scuffs his shoe on the ground. ‘You wanna burn stuff?'

 

Diego shrugs but follows Klaus along anyway, not really having anything else better to do. He doesn't get Klaus' fascination with fire, preferring his destruction quick and instant to gradual and intense. He takes his mask off too.

 

Klaus flicks his lighter as they walk, the silver cap snicking in a satisfying if not slightly annoying way the more times he does it. He's obviously restless, in that unsettled itchy way that Diego has come to associate with a weird smell and big arguments. Klaus leads him to a fence tucked at the edge of the courtyard that Diego had never really noticed before, due to its rotting wood and general state of disrepair. Klaus holds a broken panel aside for Diego to duck underneath and follows after him.

 

On the other side of the fence is a smallish square of land that Diego imagines used to be a garden. Right now it's an overgrown patch of tangled weeds and long yellow grasses, with ivy creepers climbing the brick walls that enclose it. But it's managed to catch the only bit of decent sunlight in the city, bathed in soft golden rays that have reached between the tall buildings opposite like the fingers of God. All sound from the outside suddenly seems to melt away. There's a strange, peaceful beauty to the garden, even in its wild, unkempt state and Diego feels like he's stumbled into a trap. Nowhere on the Hargreeves property should make him feel like this place does, the knot in his chest loosens a bit and he's instantly wary about it.

 

Klaus flops down into an already semi-flattened patch of grass, the reeds and wildflowers welcoming him back by tickling his face and dropping their pollen onto the knit of his sweater.

 

Diego looks around the small space, trying to figure out where it sits in relation to the rest of the house and why he's never seen it before. Even with seven of them, Diego doesn't think they'll ever manage to map every single secret that the Hargreeves mansion contains. They know it's about a blocks worth of real estate, what started as a smart townhouse slowly absorbing its neighbours until it became the old-money rabbit warren it is today.

 

And it looks like they’re going to be burning a different kind of stuff, because Klaus pulls out a joint and lights it, taking a long, deep drag like it’s nothing. It looks so grown up. Diego stares at him, suddenly feeling like Klaus is worlds ahead of him in terms of real life experience, and he didn’t even notice getting left behind.

 

Diego's hands ball into fists at his side, feeling the indignant anger rising up, roiling inside him like a feral, living thing, like Ben isn't the only one to be dealing with a monster inside. Puberty has been hitting him in all the wrong ways recently and he’s frustrated and angry /all/ the time. He’s angry at Dad for parading them about like prize show dogs, he’s angry at Luther for being a brown-nosing twat, he’s angry at the world for seeing them as superheroes and not the children that they are. Diego is tired, as much as he’s committed to saving and helping other people it’s a lot to carry on sixteen-year-old shoulders. And the worst part is he’s angry at himself for getting angry, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

 

But then Klaus reaches for him, tugging his hand to sit him down in the long grass too, and it melts away into nothing.

 

Klaus keeps his fingers laced with Diego’s, as though he forgot to let go and hasn’t noticed yet. He offers Diego the joint. Diego eyes him, at the lit roll-up in his fingers. There’s a smear of dirt on Klaus’ hand that could be blood from the mission, and Diego is torn. A part of him wants to live life like Klaus does, to taste a world that doesn’t revolve around their father and the insatiable beast that is rescuing humanity. But the other part is scared, worried about what the others would think, tarring Diego with the same brush they did when Klaus started acting out, starting to treat him like they do Vanya, weird and on the outside.

 

Diego puffs his chest out, steels his resolve just like he does before they go out on a mission, and takes the joint from Klaus’ hand. Fuck the others, he thinks, the sour wave of anger cresting into high indifference, and he takes a drag.

 

He promptly chokes on it. The acrid smoke hits the back of his throat all wrong and it _burns_. He coughs, spluttering and eyes stinging, and Klaus, the asshole, smirks at him. Diego hands it back and sticks his middle finger up. Klaus laughs.

 

‘That happened my first time too, don’t worry.’

 

He takes another toke, showing off as he takes it deep and exhales with ease. Diego watches him enviously, wishing that for once, he could be the best at something first. Klaus relaxes into it, the high already mellowing him out, and he leans back onto one elbow, holding the joint aloft like it’s a fine glass of Merlot.

 

‘This one has notes of lemon and pine, and the effects are those of euphoria and sleepy-time tea.’ Klaus breaks off on a snort. ‘The guy who sold me this was _such_ a pretentious douche-canoe you would not even believe. And it was around the back of the dollar store, so classy.’

 

He rolls his eyes and takes another hit, and then offers it to Diego again. ‘It’ll be better this time,’ he says thickly as he blows the smoke out. Diego wrinkles his nose but takes it anyway. He sucks, trying to keep his lips flat so he doesn’t get it too wet. Klaus has complained enough about people he knows who do that, so at least Diego knows something. And he is right, it is a little easier this time. Diego only inhales a little bit, pacing himself, taking a bit more each time until his head starts to spin and Klaus slaps him on the knee.

 

‘Hey, quit hogging it. That’s good Kush that is.’

 

Diego exhales, finally relinquishes the joint back to Klaus. ‘It’s from the dollar store, how good can it be.’

 

‘Ha ha. We’ll see how you feel in about 10 minutes.’

 

It does take some time before Diego realises things are different, that he’s experiencing time and space differently. He feels weird, a thick fog sat on his brain like he’s had an extra glass of champagne at one of the fancy city events they sometimes get invited to. He rubs his hands into the grass he’s sat on, carding his fingers through it, fascinated by the sensation that takes a second to catch up to him. Diego looks up and Klaus is staring at him. The joint is almost a burnt out nub in his fingers and his pupils are very, very big, and Diego thinks somehow that it’s not entirely to do with the weed.

 

Klaus sits up, leaning forward towards Diego. ‘You wanna share the last one?’

 

Diego tilts his head, not knowing what Klaus means. His brother inhales deeply, sucking the joint down to its last, and he leans even closer, using one hand to pull Diego in by the chin. His thumb dips, prompting Diego to open his mouth and he exhales, blowing the smoke into him, their lips just a hair’s breadth away from touching. Diego breathes it in and leans back, eyes wide. He holds the smoke for a second before letting it go shakily.

 

It’s not like Diego is a stranger to attention of a sexual nature. He’s had underwear thrown at him from the screaming crowds they attract and he’s seen some of the more excitable fan interviews. But this is different, this is Klaus, his _brother_. His infuriating dumbass brother who Diego actually, secretly likes more than the others. Klaus has a special kind of honesty, a similar sense of humour and taste that makes him easy to get on with. It’s like someone took a copy of Diego’s brain and cooked it for a little longer and Klaus was the slightly crispier outcome.

 

The world starts to swim in Diego’s eyes and he realises he’s swaying where he’s sat, as though caught in a listless breeze. Klaus is grinning at him manically, but Diego doesn’t think he knows he’s doing it. He reaches out, unbidden, to touch Klaus’ mouth, wanting to pull it back into the correct shape. But Klaus’ eyes cross as they focus on Diego’s incoming fingers and he licks his lips, and everything seems to zoom in on that one movement. Diego’s heart skips.

 

His stomach feels fluttery, arousal uncurling and spilling molasses slow down his spine and pooling in his crotch. Diego shifts uncomfortably in his shorts, trying to rearrange himself without Klaus noticing. But Klaus notices, he always notices, more astute than he lets on sometimes.

 

‘Did you like it?’ he asks, a little breathlessly. ‘It’s called shotgunning. I like it quite a bit.. things are so much nicer when they’re shared.’

 

Diego wants him to shut up, when does he not, but this time he wants to shut Klaus up with his mouth. He suddenly feels very high and very out of control of his body. Diego starts panicking and Klaus must sense it because he’s gripping Diego’s arm again, grounding him, pulling him over to where Klaus is sat. He settles Diego between the v of his legs, his chest against Diego’s back, holding him tight and humming in a weirdly soothing way.

 

But with the way they’re sat, Diego can feel how hard Klaus is too, poking him in the back in a way that’s impossible to ignore. Diego stills, trying to regulate his breathing, and Klaus murmurs in his ear thoughtfully.

 

‘I didn’t think you’d be a horny high.’

 

Klaus is looking down over Diego’s shoulder and right at the horribly obvious bulge in his shorts. Diego’s face flushes in embarrassment and he squirms in Klaus’ grip. But Klaus holds firm, licks his lips audibly. ‘You, ah, want me to take care of that?’

 

And Diego _moans_ , of all things, the mere thought of Klaus touching him lighting up firecrackers underneath his skin. Everything is so magnified right now and Diego wants nothing more than to feel and feel and gobble up all the sensation that he can. Klaus must take his silence for a yes because he creeps a hand down Diego’s chest, over his trembling stomach and starts to undo the button at the top of his shorts. Diego’s head is pounding, his breath caught so high in his throat, as though even one movement will shatter him.

 

Klaus slips his hand into Diego’s underwear, wrapping his fingers around him as much as he can in the tight confines and Diego jerks like he’s being electrocuted. It’s so _much_ all of a sudden, Klaus’ heat behind him, the fuzzy pins and needles in his brain, the achingly good drag of Klaus’ hand rough on his prick. He’s never had anyone else touch him like this before and he’s _leaking_ such an awful amount. Klaus noses at his neck and Diego feels the hairs raise in a shiver.

 

‘You gonna come, Di?’ Klaus asks tightly, watching his hand working in Diego’s shorts. The tip of Diego’s cock keeps appearing and disappearing in Klaus’ fist, the angry wet pink of it shocking against Klaus’ pale skin.

 

Diego nods, pressing his lips together desperately to stop the noise that’s trying to escape him, and _oh yes_ , he is definitely going to come. Klaus strokes faster, squeezing tighter around the head, and Diego presses back against him, leaning on Klaus’ shoulder as the feeling of imminent release builds inside. He feels so heavy and his hips rock minutely, and underneath the fog of the weed he can’t fucking believe what’s happening.

 

Klaus is pressing against him urgently, panting hot and wet on Diego’s neck, and Diego can’t hold it any longer. He fucks into Klaus’ hand and spills with a cry, blurting thick and wet both in his shorts and over the bottom of his untucked shirt. Klaus makes a low keening sound next to him and holds an arm around Diego’s waist so that he can rub his cock against Diego’s back, humping him ungainly, desperate to get off any way he can. He shakes pretty soon after, ducking his head into Diego’s shoulder and being surprisingly quiet while he comes.

 

He lets Diego go when he’s done and lies back into the long grass, a whumph of air escaping his lips. Diego feels dizzy, like the world has been turned upside down and inside out. He feels uncomfortable and sticky in his underwear and he’s suddenly not sure if he’s going to throw up.

 

Then Klaus rubs a hand up the back of Diego’s shirt, the touch of skin on skin nice and distracting, and Diego lets out a big, balancing sigh. The sound of it gets swallowed up by the garden and Diego focuses on the warmth of the sunlight still on them and the soft petting of Klaus at his back. He can definitely see why Klaus likes this. Things _are_ so much nicer when they’re shared.

 

 


	2. Vanya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Vanya in the garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work has been kicking my ass lately so this has been a long time coming (scuse the pun)
> 
> this chap is just Klaus and Van, each following chap will be Klaus and another sibling as standalone works
> 
> it's horribly self-indulgent lmao I'm just using this project mostly to feel around the characters, everybody felt woefully underdeveloped in the show, and I'm using smut to do it

 

-

 

Spring bleeds its way into what looks like will be a long and roaring summer. The change in weather creeps through the halls of the mansion, breathing warm and fresh through the open windows, and seeps into Vanya’s very skin like red wine on a white tablecloth, sumptuous but utterly wasted. Summer for the Hargeeves’ isn’t like summer for normal kids, it’s longer days of training and missions, of pageantry and note-taking, of bickering and resentment. If Vanya is supposed to be ordinary then she at least wishes for a summer that matches that.

 

Vanya tracks Klaus to the garden by following the plume of his smoke.

 

She catches sight of it through a window on the way back to her room and curiosity pulls at her, an inexorable tugging to go and find the source. It’s such a fine, irregular wisp that she knows the house isn’t on fire, and it’s in the wrong place to be steam from one of the bathrooms. Vanya has come to associate fire and all it’s side effects with one particular brother so she knows it has Klaus doing something, the inquisitive documentarian in her just wants to know what.

 

It doesn’t take her long to figure out his location, narrowing it down to the courtyard outside and prodding and prying at the old, broken fencing there until she finds her way in. It is Klaus, she was right, and she’s only mildly surprised to find out that there’s a secret garden, long disused and hidden away. She can relate.

 

The garden smells like the oncoming warmth of summer, the early blooms of wildflowers erupting in scatters across the small space, and Klaus sits back in the long yellow grass in the middle, bathed in late-afternoon sun, puffing away. Vanya is struck by the image of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland, magical and otherworldly in a loose haze of smoke in a storybook garden. She stares at him, at the lax line of his body, the indecently open sprawl of his legs, and at the sliver of soft skin exposed from his untucked shirt, dry-mouthed and feeling very much like she herself has suddenly fallen down a rabbit hole.

 

Her brother looks decadent, pretty even, like a Baroque painting, having shed his pubescent awkwardness, with his big dark eyes and his unruly hair curling now that he’s managing to grow it out. He’s somehow been dodging the strict haircuts their father prefers them to have and while it makes him look sweet, it’s also dangerous. Tempting like a beautiful rose with a sinful snake coiled beneath. Vanya doesn’t know what to make of it, for a moment seeing her brother in a completely different light.

 

A lot of things have changed about Klaus recently, but not the way he matches Vanya’s gaze, resting heavy on her from the other side of the garden, familiar and somehow challenging. There’s a daring glint in his eye and it brings an unexpected heat to Vanya’s cheeks, thrilling her at feeling seen.

 

‘Vanya,’ he grins and beckons her over, surprised but evidently pleased that she’s there. He pats the grass next to him and she sits, trying to curl her legs awkwardly beneath her so her skirt doesn’t rise up. She hates the skirts, the uniform is uncomfortable in general, but the skirts are definitely the worst. Klaus offers her the joint mostly out of politeness and she shakes her head, fringe brushing into her eyes. She’s acting shy but Klaus knows better.

 

He takes a long, luxurious toke and continues to hold her eye, as if trying to lure the real Vanya out. He lets the the smoke peel from the sides of his mouth like a dragon, showing glimpses of his sharp canines, and equally as predatorily says, ‘And what brings you here, on this day of days?’

 

Vanya pulls a long reed of grass from the ground, carefully deciding her answer as though it’s a chess move. She’s not particularly sure what she wants to do now that she’s here, this strange new energy setting her at odds with the usual way she hangs out with Klaus. She chews the inside of her cheek, a demure move taught from years at her father’s heels, eyes lowered, tongue held, small, insignificant, unseen. But Klaus’ fingers suddenly brush the inside of her bare leg and her breath catches, all of that learning yearning to fly out the window. He carefully brushes a crawling ladybird from her skin and watches it fly away to land in some grass nearby. Vanya’s heartbeat is loud in her ears. This new Klaus is uncharted territory and Vanya has always considered herself something of an explorer.

 

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ she eventually replies, still struck with whimsy, and Klaus’ mouth twists into a humoured smile.

 

‘Curiosity killed the cat.'

 

Vanya shreds the piece of grass into thin strips, meets his eye boldly. ‘And satisfaction brought it back.’

 

Klaus finishes the last of his joint, stubbing it out in a patch of dry soil and brings himself to sit up properly, leaning slightly into Vanya’s space.

 

‘Is that what you came here for? Satisfaction?’

 

His eyes rest on her dark and heavy-lidded and his whole body screams pure suggestion. Vanya blushes. ‘I don’t know what you mean by that.’

 

Klaus laughs, rough-edged from the smoke.

 

‘Don’t play coy with me, Vanya,’ he chides, sounding very grown-up, very much like he’s using someone else’s words. Vanya’s head tilts, wondering.

 

Klaus definitely has been changing, some external stimulus having its effect on him that hasn’t on Vanya and the others. Vanya knows that Klaus sneaks out, knows that he must be getting his drugs from someone. She looks at the faint bruising around his wrists, calculating that the last mission was long enough ago that any damage should’ve cleared up by now.

 

Someone has taught Klaus those words, that playfully adult way of speaking, the conscious way he holds himself to appear appealing at all times. Someone has given her brother those bruises.

 

Klaus has turned himself into a different kind of commodity and Vanya isn’t so sheltered that she can’t figure out what. But despite knowing, despite how wrong it feels, she’s still powerlessly drawn in, the bite of curiosity right there for the taking, Klaus open for the biting. Her teeth ache. She _wants_ but she isn’t quite sure what it is yet, a gnawing, pawing bloom of something stirring in her stomach, between her thighs.

 

Klaus pulls a little clear packet from the inside of his jacket and shakes out a small tab onto the palm of his hand. He places it on the tip of his tongue and leans in toward Vanya, an entirely different ball in her court, waiting for her to make her decision. Vanya’s breath catches, palms sweating, and she finds herself coming in the rest of the way. Klaus wraps a hand around the base of her skull, pulling her into a loose approximation of a kiss. He pushes the tab into her open mouth and leans back, letting it dissolve on her tongue.

 

Vanya’s head spins, wild and dizzy at the idea of what’s happening. She feels pinpricks of apprehension about actually doing drugs, glowing heat like stoked embers in her stomach from Klaus’ touch, his pretty face, and an all-round salient sense of excitement at breaking rules. It’s thrilling, really, like Klaus himself is a fire and Vanya can finally feel the heat of him underneath the deadening cold of her medication.

 

‘Is this okay?’ Klaus asks after swallowing his own tab. He licks his lips, still tasting, and his tongue looks somehow longer than usual.

 

Vanya nods. Klaus rests his head in her lap, settling in to wait for his trip, and she weaves him a crown of grasses with growing single-minded focus, adorning it with interesting leaves and the few flowers within her reach. She prompts him to sit up when she’s done, placing it atop is bowed head, making him truly look like the fae that he is, a forest nymph, a Bacchae in the garden of his god.

 

‘You should grow it out longer,’ Vanya tells him suddenly, curling her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling herself staring way too intensely but unmoved to stop. ‘You’d look so pretty. Like a-,’ she stops the thought, stumbles over it, repeating in a loop. She wants to kiss Klaus again, to put her mouth on his and pull his hair, feel it long in her fingers, and she isn’t sure what that means. Vanya likes that Klaus is pretty and soft, that he has a decidedly feminine air about him and is often a little aggressive about it. She’s more drawn to him than any of her other brothers, or any other boy, now that she considers it, their brutish, boyish ways unappealing in every way. Except really for Five, she's always been sweet on Five. But even then, his aloof impossibility is somewhat a comfort; Vanya can watch from afar, never fearing that things might progress between them in the way it seems to be between Luther and Allison, even if she tells herself that that’s what she wants.

 

‘Like a girl,’ Klaus finishes, smiling, knowing, somehow cutting right through to the uncomfortable, unseen core of her. Vanya blushes at the idea of it, heat rising, burning her up inside. Klaus’ hand is on her leg again, tracing gentle patterns on her skin with the tips of his fingers.

 

‘It’s okay to want both, y’know,’ he tells her, in that almost teasing way he has.

 

It feels like a secret, a great hidden knowledge shared between them in the hush of the garden. Vanya can feel the earth breathing beneath her, the yawning urge of it to swallow her up whole. She does know, she does, but to know something and to accept something are very different things.

 

Klaus shifts up onto his knees, facing Vanya directly and titling his head. Vanya tilts her head too, copying him, transfixed by the warping textures of his features, the slow dolly zoom effect on her vision.

 

‘How did you get to be so wise, Mr Caterpillar,’ she whispers, feeling the high creeping over her, and he grasps her face in his hands, grinning goofily, very much like the old Klaus, and shrugs lightly.

 

‘May I kiss you again?’

 

Vanya giggles at the formality, appreciating the break in tension. ‘You may.’

 

And he curves her head up towards his, leaning to press a very chaste kiss on her lips, perfectly content to use the proximity just to breathe her in. The colours and shapes of him start to melt together in Vanya’s eyes, the sight of it singing to her, calling to the dark, gaping hole in her soul. She feels a pressure under her skin, drawing imperceptibly on the soft sounds of Klaus’ breathing, on the whisper of the wind through the tall grass, the call of birds and the city distant outside the garden walls. It wants to burst out of her like a rising tide, so she grabs Klaus’ face too, pushing their mouths together messily, licking desperately into him. Klaus tries to guide her into something with more finesse but she’s frantic, suddenly ravenous and scared of losing that touch. Vanya pulls Klaus back down into the grass with her, hiding them from sight.

 

‘I’ve seen you staring at me,’ Klaus tells her between kisses, his thighs bracketed by Vanya’s, the both of them aching to push together. ‘I’ve seen you staring at Allison too.’

 

Vanya stops, her hands caught twisted up in Klaus’ sweater. Klaus kisses his way along her jaw, down her neck, nosing at her collar as he continues to speak.

 

‘Do you want to be her? Or do you want to be with her? I kept asking myself the same thing when I realised I wanted to fuck guys as well as girls. It’s all so damn confusing.’

 

His skin starts to crackle in Vanya’s vision, the halo of sunlight framing him bleeding away his edges, like he’s turned into a being made of pure smoke. Every word he says ratchets Vanya’s breathing, cranking her tighter with tension. To be seen, to be known like this is mortifying. Vanya hasn’t properly looked at these thoughts before, scared of what their father would do, of what her siblings would think, of how it would change her understanding of herself completely. Vanya is ordinary, never been anything but, so she naturally assumed she would be in this too. Ordinary girls don’t want to be with other girls.

 

Klaus untangles one of her hands, guides it back into his hair, just underneath the crown she made him. ‘We could pretend, if you want?’ He’s rubbing his hips into her now, so softly she can barely notice the pressure of him between her legs. ‘You can pretend I’m a girl?’

 

He sounds breathless with it too, clearly the notion of that fantasy doing something for him as well as her. His pupils are big and dark, moving about like the gloops of plasma inside a lava lamp because Vanya is tripping, she must be, she’s about to do _something_ with Klaus, her brother, while they both pretend he’s a girl, like that’s a normal thing to do.

 

‘I- yeah, Klaus, yeah, okay,’ she murmurs, stumbling over her words like Diego often does.

 

Klaus kisses her properly again, open mouthed and panting, sucking and biting at her lips and tongue in a way that makes Vanya shiver, the space between her legs now undeniably wet as she clenches. Vanya moans against him, a desperate little thing, and Klaus tears himself away, pawing at her thighs.

 

‘Can I, Vanya? Can I?’

 

Vanya nods, unsure about what she’s actually agreeing to, and Klaus tugs at her skirt. He pulls it off completely and Vanya wants to close her legs, to hide herself from view, from Klaus’ wonderful, awful eyes. Klaus keeps them open though, eager fingers inching over her skin toward the edge of her underwear. He rubs her through it, feeling how soaked she is, and Vanya lights up, suddenly aware of how much she wants this, how worked up she is. Klaus is very pretty, impossibly alluring no matter what gender, but Vanya thrills at the thought of it being a girl touching her like this. She wants long hair and soft lips and breasts and curves and _god_ , she hasn’t allowed herself to really think about it before but now she can’t stop.

 

She yanks at Klaus’ hair unthinkingly and he stifles a moan, working her underwear down quickly and promptly burying his face into her. It’s so unexpected, so utterly raw and immediate that Vanya gasps, feeling herself fluttering and leaking on Klaus’ tongue. Klaus eats her like he’s starving for it, digging inside until she cries out, unable to keep quiet as his nose rubs into her clit. He grips her hipbones, lifting her up slightly to get deeper access and Vanya’s hands rush greedily into his hair again, knocking the crown flying.

 

His hair is soft, longest at the top, and Vanya runs her fingers through it luxuriously, rolling her hips to meet Klaus’ tongue, to get it into the spot she likes best. She watches his head between her thighs, liking the way it looks as he moves. It could be anyone down there and she holds him closer, grinding onto Klaus’ face, riding out the fantasy of a girl, a pretty, eager girl eating her out.

 

Vanya throws her head back, rocking desperately on the thick, wet probe of Klaus’ tongue, eyes wide open to the sky above. Colours bleed together, a swimming stain of living texture and bright, unbearable hues that Vanya is certain she’s never seen before, and she nods for no reason at it, letting the high take her up and up without question.

 

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since she entered the garden but the sun has begun to creep down below the wall, casting them in long, warm shadow. Vanya’s grip in Klaus’ hair is white-knuckle tight, edging ever closer to coming as she fucks herself on Klaus’ tongue, burying it further and further inside. Klaus whines in answer to her low, rolling groans, and Vanya bites her lip as a swoop of heat overtakes her. He’s humping the ground as he licks her, getting off on the taste and the sensation and the feeling of being used. It would make Vanya blush if she had the capacity to care, the acid in her system making her loose and uninhibited and all she’s focused on is the blinding, dizzying motion of Klaus sucking her clit.

 

‘Please,’ she bites out, high and whiny and embarrassingly needy. It feels like she’s been on the crest of a wave for eternity and she wants to _come_. ‘Make me,’ Vanya pleads, shaking at the onslaught of stimulation, Klaus laving gently and drawing teasing circles with his wicked, wicked tongue. He slips a finger into where she’s practically dripping, her walls clenching tight around him and she moans, full-bodied and shuddering.

 

‘ _Yes_ ,’ she cries out, yanking hard on Klaus’ hair. He sucks her harder in turn, shuddering, keening in his throat and his finger crooks inside her. Vanya looks down and sees the way his hand is working in his shorts, hears the soft, wet splatter onto the ground. She realises that he’s just come, just from her fucking his face, and she pulls his hair again, not even letting him catch his breath, over and over until she gets a good rhythm, frantically close. Klaus rubs the finger inside her, curling against that spot she likes, and Vanya comes, finally, hips stuttering and voice whip-snatched away. Her mouth opens on a silent scream, eyes screwing shut as the intensity of it wracks her whole body. She spasms around Klaus’ finger, pulsing wet and electric as he continues to work her through it.

 

Vanya deflates, gliding through a universe made of thick, twinkling sunlight. The clouds above pop like soap bubbles and the yellow grass is ten feet tall and all of her nerve endings are fizzy. She lets Klaus go and he rolls away onto his side, taking heavy gulps of air. He seems giddy with it, a dazed grin plastered over his wet face. Klaus’ hair is mussed and sticking from Vanya’s rough hands in it and his spent prick lies in the open v of his shorts. He looks thoroughly fucked and Vanya’s face flushes, pleased at the sight.

 

‘Fuck that was good,’ Klaus breathes, rolling the words around, enjoying the feel of them, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, utterly shameless in his filthy delight. He wriggles out of his shorts, laughing deliriously at the little bit of mess he got on the bottom of his sweater.

 

Klaus turns over, catching Vanya’s gaze, a sneaking grin curling his lips as he gets an idea. He reaches for her skirt discarded in the grass to the side and pulls it on himself, shimmying it up his hips. Vanya’s eyes crinkle fondly and she leans to help him with the zip. It’s a little snug even on his slim frame but Klaus preens, rolling onto his front in glee and kicking his legs behind him. He poses like one of the glamour models in Allison’s magazines and Vanya laughs sweetly.

 

‘Suits you,’ she smiles, meaning it.

 

She pulls on her own underwear, slowly becoming aware of how exposed she is as lights start coming on in the windows of the tall buildings opposite. They wink at her, forming a kind of face that almost looks like Klaus, and nod in acceptance. She nods back, appeased by the grand cosmic entity conjured by her trip, and the real Klaus hands her his shorts. Vanya takes them, sliding them up her legs and feeling truly comfortable for the first time in a long time.

 

They lie in companionable silence for a moment, their heavy, catching breaths syncing up. It should feel weird, a seismic shift of epic proportion taking place, but Vanya feels nothing but still waters, the post-orgasm adrenaline spike tapering off into a calmness that settles bone deep. Vanya feels reborn, like Eve having taken a bite from the apple of forbidden knowledge, and she takes Klaus’ hand in hers, actually looking forward to the summer ahead.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not every chapter will feature sex under the influence, the acid trip just called out to me as did fantasy lesbian vanya~
> 
> comments as always darlings, I love your comments xox


	3. Ben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Ben in the garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo woooo it's here it's here
> 
> I completely fucked the format of this fic by adding a new chapter lmao but anyhoo
> 
> hope ya enjoy these boys that I've clearly developed a soft spot for~

 

-

 

Klaus had never tended a garden before, horticulture falling very low on the list of skills needed to be an ass-kicking superhero. But now that he’s found the garden, and it had brought him Diego, and then Vanya, he felt somewhat responsible for it. He owed it, and a little bit of TLC after all these years couldn’t hurt, restoring some of its former glory. The garden is a wonderful thing in its own right, untouched as it is by human hands, but Klaus can feel the ache of the soil, the grass reaching out to him, the wildflowers yearning, and the very walls enclosing it calling out his name.

 

He’d actually found a photograph from a long, long time ago, when the house looked new and the garden was freshly sown. Their father stood at the edge of it, next to some contraption he’d built, an awkward pillar of astute uprightness, right on the precipice of where the fence is now. Klaus had wondered why the fence was built, why the garden was shut away and left to its own devices. But the longer he spends in there, the easier it becomes to hear it, and the more he understands. Reginald Hargreeves is a man who shuts away things that can’t be controlled, and the garden definitely was one of those things.

 

But Klaus is a lover of a wayward stray, and he accosts his first favourite in the library. Ben, a.k.a wayward stray number six, a.k.a King of Books, would know exactly where to find something to help Klaus on his green-fingered journey. He crowds Ben against a wall of old, hard-covered encyclopaedias, enjoying the height difference he has on his brother now, and the way it makes him scowl.

 

‘I’ll see what I can find,’ Ben tells him when he asks, Klaus barely having to beg and wheedle favours anymore.

 

Thing is, Ben and Klaus have been… experimenting, for lack of a better word. Klaus opened up a veritable pandora’s box worth of bullshit within himself last year, and Ben was amenable enough to be taken along for the ride, suspiciously, subconsciously attached to Klaus in a way that he would refuse point blank if asked. Ben was the first to come to Klaus, a while before the garden ever came to light, but he’s still no less shy about it, ever the blushing virgin despite the things they’ve done. It pleases Klaus, a purring little knot of a thing in his chest every time Ben not-so-subtly asks where Klaus was the night before, silently begging for a play-by-play demonstration. They’ve been taking it slow though, Ben a rapt and responsive audience but way too skittish to try anything more than handjobs. Klaus hasn’t even seen him naked, more's the pity.

 

But Ben does more than find Klaus a book, he finds ten of them, big, heavy volumes that he carries in a teetering stack to Klaus' room, dumping them on his bed in a cloud of dust. Klaus gets to work immediately, Ben helping sort through the relevant information because, to be honest, Klaus doesn't really have the most patience with reading. Klaus draws sketches instead, makes lists of Ben’s recommendations, starts thinking about how he can get his hands on gardening supplies, and how he’s managed to become a retired man with an allotment overnight. He hasn't felt this excited about a project since he discovered rollable glitter glue, and Ben is watching him out the corner of his eye like he's a spinning top about to fall off the table.

 

The next day, Klaus "borrows" a few things from the hardware store in town, and bursts out of the local parks with his arms full of whole plants while the groundskeepers chase him. Ben helps Klaus lug bags of sod through the foyer and out into the courtyard, both of them giggling at how they're trying not to get caught. It’s a rare day off, the heat of summer too much for anyone to concentrate on training, and crime thankfully taking a rest too. Klaus stacks flowerpots atop his head to make Ben laugh even more, rolling his eyes because Ben knows that laughing at Klaus just makes his insufferable ego even worse.

 

 

'I think the garden is magic...' Klaus tells him later, when they're both elbows deep in dirt, planting a new flowerbed along the eastward wall.

 

Ben opens his mouth to say something sarcastic in reply but Klaus cuts him off, explaining what happened with Diego, and then with Vanya. Ben's eyes are bugging out by the time Klaus finishes. Then he squints at him.

 

'Are you lying?'

 

And while Klaus has been known to embellish the truth a little here and there, he definitely isn't making this up. Klaus raises a hand. 'Scouts honour, swear to god, cross my heart, etcetera etcetera.'

 

'This better not be one of those 'Vanya and Diego jumped off a cliff so you should too' kinds of things, Klaus.'

 

He points his trowel reasonably at Ben. ’Normally, I absolutely would tell you to do that, but I kind of want to see if anything will happen naturally, if this place really does have supernatural sex energy.'

 

Ben snorts. 'That's a good name for a band.'

 

Then shakes his head. Y'know, I actually wouldn't put it past Dad to have accidentally created a garden that makes people want to do each other. After Pogo and Mom, and us... stranger things have happened.'

 

‘ _Do each other_ , that's cute. What makes you think it was an accident though?'

 

Ben's mouth twists in disgust. 'Ew, Klaus.'

 

'People were d-t-f back in the day, old Dad could've been king of the swingers, the jungle VIP.'

 

'You are so gross sometimes,' Ben says, long-sufferingly, packing fresh soil around a newly bedded lavender bush. Lavender is Vanya's favourite and Klaus hopes that she likes it next time she visits.

 

He feels strange, settled and contented, nesting the place with his brother. It's definitely not Dad's garden, never was, and Klaus is picking up that slow, sticky feeling of arousal now, dredging up from his core just like those other times. He catches himself staring at Ben, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, the smear of dirt on his arms and bare knees, and he feels the garden staring too; hungry, expectant, omnipresent eyes boring into the both of them.

 

'You could just ask me...' Ben says eventually, a faint blush high on his cheeks that might simply be from exertion, if Klaus didn't know any different. It _is_ a magic sex garden. The tips of Ben's ears are cherry red, a telltale sign of him getting worked up, and he suddenly doesn't want to meet Klaus' eyes, busying himself with digging another hole in the soil.

 

Klaus grins. 'It's working isn't it?'

 

'I hate you so much.'

 

'If I did ask you though, what would you say?' he asks, twirling his trowel nonchalantly.

 

Ben shrugs, the taught line in his shoulders betraying how much he actually cares. 'Whatever you want, Klaus,' he answers- and isn't that a dangerous thing to say.

 

Klaus chews his lip, feels sweat trickle down his back from the blistering heat of the day. It's like the garden has amped its own temperature, a pressure cooker leading up to something momentous. They've done stuff before of course, but this time Klaus can sense a change in the air, the anticipation of something different. Ben meets his eye, low and shy under his lashes, checking that Klaus is feeling it too, and whispers, 'I'm _hard_.'

 

He sounds so scandalised by it, disbelieving and embarrassed really, and it's so unexpectedly blunt that Klaus blinks for a moment, brain reeling out into the stratosphere before clunking back online. Ben doesn't just _say_ things like that, somehow going right for the jugular of Klaus' libido without even meaning to. It usually takes a long time for Ben to warm up but he's looking at Klaus now like he wants to either eat him or be eaten.

 

Klaus knows which he'd rather so he lunges for his brother, pushing him back into the grass they spent hours taming into a decent lawn. He licks into Ben's mouth without preamble, frenching him deep and messy because Ben likes it that way, doesn't like to be teased. Ben makes an anguished sound, kicking a leg over Klaus' back to push their crotches together. He wasn't lying, Ben is rock hard in his shorts, Klaus can feel the hot ridge of it under him and he grinds his own dick into it, watching the reaction play out on Ben's face.

 

Ben bites at the back of his hand to muffle the loud moan bubbling out of him but Klaus doesn't want that. He pulls Ben's hand away, pushes his fingers into his mouth instead, feeling the wet struggle of his tongue as it moves. It gives Klaus an idea, the something special for the garden. He takes his fingers out, lifts his body away, and gets both hands on Ben's hips to roll him onto his hands and knees.

 

'Wha-?' Ben starts, on the edge of protest, but Klaus tugs Ben's shorts down, down to his knees, his underwear too, and Ben goes rigid. Klaus puts his fingers back to Ben's lips, waiting for him to accept them again, wetting them generously when he eventually, reluctantly does. Ben is shivering as he sucks, obviously clued up as to what's about to happen and absolutely torn by how much he wants it.

 

Klaus takes his fingers back, freeing Ben’s mouth to breathe heavily as he drags them down to Ben’s asshole. He taps wet at the dry, intimate furl of it, Ben choking on air at the tease of pressure.

 

‘Oh, _don’t_ ,’ Ben whines, squirming, head falling to hang between his shoulders, trying to pretend he doesn’t want this. Klaus’ stomach twists with heat at the fucked up illusion of resistance. He’s going to fuck Ben anyway though, give him exactly what he needs, because he knows that Ben wants it really.

 

'Can I?' Klaus asks, just to hear Ben say it.

 

Ben takes a wavering breath, and nods, his voice cracking quietly. 'Y-yeah, okay.'

 

Klaus slip-slides a finger into him, the feeling of the slick digit and the sight of the soil beneath his hands making Ben think of worms, wriggling inside, not dissimilar from the appendages of his Horror.

 

It’s a sickening notion, to think of them in this context, and his abdomen bulges in warning, his skin prickling sharp and hot, sweat beading over his whole body. Klaus shushes him, eases him like he’s a spooked horse, rubbing his flank even as his finger goes deeper inside. Ben feels the palm of Klaus’ hand meet his ass cheek, the whole digit all the way in, and he moans, a whimpering little sound that’s pathetically needy and devastatingly overwhelmed. Klaus is _inside_ him, Klaus is definitely going to _fuck_ him, and Ben can’t breathe for a second, light headed as all the blood rushes from his brain. Klaus licks him impulsively, a large flat stripe over the damp skin of his lower back where his shirt’s been pushed up, not knowing what else to do because his brother is taking him so perfectly, falling apart so easily, and this is only just the beginning.

 

‘ _Klaus_ ,’ Ben breathes, his whole body suddenly frozen in fear. His stomach is roiling, a churning flurry of activity beneath the thin barrier between their world and that of the Horror. Ben’s never felt like this before, never once experiencing anything like the heat and arousal and _shame_ of getting fucked by his brother on his hands and knees in the garden where their father could come and find them at any moment. It’s broad fucking daylight and the Horror inside him is roaring with it, apparently experiencing this feeling for the first time too. Ben’s terrified at what might happen, what it will do if it comes out. He grabs for Klaus’ other hand, pulls it under his shirt and tight to his stomach so they can both feel the movement inside, the unnatural bulge and shift of his flesh. Ben’s never let anyone see it before, let alone feel it, embarrassed by his body in ways that the others would never understand simply going through puberty. But he needs Klaus to know what’s going on, desperate to not feel so isolated, alienated by his own physiology.

 

‘ _Fuck_ , Ben. They really like it, huh?’ Klaus pants, dry-mouthed, the audible click of his swallow sending a shiver down Ben’s spine. It sounds like Klaus really likes it too, the way his hand gingerly strokes at the soft protrusions fighting like eels in Ben’s belly.

 

‘ _Don’t let them out_ ,’ Ben whispers.

 

Klaus nods, realising then that Ben can’t see him, and says gently, with meaning, ‘Yeah, Benny, they’ll stay right where they are, best seat in the house.’ And he keeps his fingers locked with Ben’s, clutched against him, feeling the excited undulations of the ageless, faceless creature within his brother, as though that alone would be able to stop it if it tried.

 

Ben is vibrating beneath him, fear and arousal a delicious, heady cocktail that Klaus knows all too well, imperceptibly rocking his hips on Klaus’ finger, not fully aware he’s doing it. Klaus curls inside him, crooking up to feel for Ben’s prostate and biting a smile into his back when he finds it. It makes Ben sing, a lightning bolt through his entire body and out of his mouth in an agonisingly vocal moan. Ben’s never done this before, never had to learn to keep quiet or hold back, and Klaus flushes all over. It’s hot, his brother is _hot_ , Klaus can’t stand how natural and uninhibited he is, untouched and untampered by the expectation of anybody telling him how he should be.

Klaus never had that, not even from day one (not that he one-hundred percent remembers day one), but he knows he became somebody else the moment he entered that room, and again the moment he left it. Klaus learned how to please other people, became a chameleon, lost a part of himself because of it, but Ben is free, Ben is innocent and unashamed and beautiful and Klaus _loves_ him. They’ve fucked around before, nothing like this though, and Klaus realises that he actually loves Ben, completely and stupidly. Klaus would die for Ben, and that’s not just his dick talking.

 

‘I love you.’

 

Ben jerks. ‘Shut up,’ he says, trembling, Klaus wonders if he’ll ever stop. ‘I’ve- I already agreed to let you fuck me.’

 

Klaus really does love him. He smiles because Ben almost never swears, the sound of it awkwardly aggressive in his mouth, and he squeezes a second finger into him as a reward. Ben grinds back hard into the stretch, taking the suddenness of it like a champ, humming low in his throat as Klaus wastes no time scissoring him open. He kisses at Ben’s back, every bit of skin he can reach, wanting to touch him all over forever and ever, the tight, hot clutch of him wonderful and maddening. Klaus wants to fuck him, wants it so badly he thinks he might go crazy - even more so than usual. It’s definitely not right to want someone so much, especially when that someone is your brother, adopted or not.

 

It’s funny, Klaus never had the doubt, the mild flash of panic with the others that he’s having now. Diego was inevitable really, Klaus had seen the fall of that domino coming for a long time, and Vanya felt like he was simply showing her through a door of understanding that he’d already stepped through himself. But this is Ben, lovely, quiet, smart, sassy Ben, with his nose always in a book and a quick, cutting remark should you try to take him out of it. This is _Ben_ and now there are _feelings_ involved. Real people feelings like the ones in movies or something. Klaus is terrified of fucking it all up.

 

‘I need to fuck you,’ Klaus blurts heatedly, the urge to just say something, anything over the lyrical waxings of his brain.

 

Ben’s shoving back onto Klaus’ fingers just as much as Klaus is thrusting them in and he clenches. ‘ _God,_ just do it then.’

 

Klaus rears forward, feeling as desperate as Ben sounds, rising up onto his aching knees to slide his fingers out and reach over Ben into the toolbox for lube. Ben huffs a delirious laugh when he sees it.

 

'This is happening too often for me not to be prepared,' Klaus shrugs.

 

He struggles one-handed to get the lube onto himself and push in, the other one still seeping a brand of heat into the now tamer writhing in Ben’s stomach. The Horror has calmed a little but Klaus can still feel the itch of it, the calling scratch of a thousand voices with a thousand hungry fingers underneath. He doesn’t know how Ben can stand it all the time.

 

The first breach is agonising. Ben is unbearably tight even after Klaus’ ministrations, the grip of him yanking Klaus inexorably in despite it. Klaus thrusts his hips shallowly, watching his dick disappearing millimetre by millimetre into the soft, wet opening of his brother. It’s obscene, disgusting really how he fits inside, Klaus usually too busy on the receiving end to see properly what happens. His heart is in his mouth, the little blood not in his dick pounding in his brain. Ben makes a long, quiet ‘oh’ as Klaus bottoms out, shuddering as his hips come flush against Ben’s ass. He clenches around Klaus, as though testing the girth of him, really feeling how much he’s stretched open and how he won’t be closing any time soon.

 

Klaus sighs too, letting the immediate waves of want and need and fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ wash over. It’s a _lot_ , and he doesn’t want to come yet, wants to make it last for Ben, make his first time worth remembering, unlike Klaus’. He drapes himself over Ben’s back, enveloping him completely with his heavy, sweating body, shielding him from the world. Klaus drags his hips, a sweet, slow grind that Ben gags on, uncomfortable at the steady, unrelenting pressure. Klaus knows he wants more but he fucks Ben languidly, like they have all the time in the world, and Ben’s fingers dig so tightly into Klaus’ where they’re both holding him together.

 

He can feel Ben’s desperation climbing, like the creepers on the garden walls, winding him up like a clockwork toy. ‘Jerk yourself off,’ Klaus tells him, perfectly content to come like this. He wants to keep Ben close, breathe him in, every inch of them pressed alongside, almost becoming one person. He wants to climb inside Ben, a second monster living in his heart, and the intensity of that feeling scares him more than any ghost ever has.

 

Ben seems hesitant to let go of Klaus’ arm around his abdomen, but he can’t move the one that’s braced against the dirt, holding them both up, and he really wants to come. He seems to know that Klaus won’t be giving him anything other than the thick shove of his cock, his frustration at odds with the molten feeling that working desperately for his orgasm gives him.

 

Klaus has always liked to see Ben struggle for it, to force himself up to it, seeing how far he can push to make Ben come from the smallest amount of stimulation possible. Klaus knows that Ben hates it, but he also knows how much he likes it.

 

‘You gonna come?’ Klaus asks, needling, in that slightly mean, almost taunting voice he uses sometimes. He knows that Ben hates that too, but it always works like a fucking charm. It’s degrading, reminding Ben what he’s getting off on, just how low he’s sunk. Klaus feels Ben clenching, spasming despite himself, a dead giveaway. He grins into Ben’s back, humping him faster like rutting dog, delirious with the way Ben responds to him. He feels powerful, he feels himself leaking raw inside his brother. ‘I want to feel you come, baby. So fucking tight on my dick, you wouldn’t even know. You can fuck me next time, Ben. _Ben?_ _Yeah?_ I’ll let you, you can feel how good it is.’

 

Every other syllable is punctuated by an increasingly erratic thrust, Klaus has lost his rhythm, concentration completely shot as his mouth runs away with him. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying, rambling filth that makes Ben flush and shake, and he’s let go of Klaus’ arm to jerk himself off, squeezing with the overly keen grip he likes to use.

 

‘I’m- I’m going to come inside you,’ Klaus gasps, suddenly riding right on the terrifying edge- and Ben comes.

 

He breaks as it happens, a dam bursting open with such quiet violence that Klaus has to hold him tighter lest he shake apart entirely. The Horror inside Ben is screaming, rolling into Klaus’ touch as Ben cries out in ecstasy, clamping down tight as he shoots off into the dirt below. Klaus feels the rough bulges of Them between his fingers, Ben’s soft skin a strange putty in his hand, and he imagines for a moment feeling the push of his cock inside as well, filling out Ben’s usually taut stomach. He imagines the appendages he’s seen rip people to shreds welcoming him inside, the both of them fucking into Ben the way he needs, rough and full and sweet. And then Klaus imagines it the other way around, the way he promised Ben could have him next time, and the Horror getting a turn too, and Klaus comes, like a freight train, laughing wildly at the burning idea of it. He shoves into Ben and spills, his orgasm so long and hard that he nearly passes out, black spots dancing over his vision like fireworks in a night sky.

 

When he comes to, Ben is struggling under the weight of holding them both up, his breathing ragged, almost wheezing, and Klaus very carefully pulls out, the slick sound of it sending goosebumps up Ben’s spine. They’re both covered in dirt, smeared in soil and grass clippings, and Klaus has to grab Ben before he collapses into the wet patch he’s made, rolling them both onto the freshly cut lawn.

 

‘I told you,’ Klaus pants, heart whirling a mile a minute as he looks at Ben, beautiful, fucked-out, blissed-out Ben lying next to him. ‘Told you this garden was magic.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, I got myself hot writing that last bit~ stomach bulges and the potential for tentacles lmfao don't at me
> 
> sorry these chapters are so weird and long, let me know what you thought, what you might like to see in future, idk how long this series'll go after I finish klaus/sibs one-on-one... has anybody written an orgy yet???


	4. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Five in the garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to long, rambling nonsense with smut thrown in at the end.. I've missed you guys
> 
> I don't think this 100% what I set out to write, there are many plates spinning right now and I always end up with competing dynamics and characterisations, so apologies for any inconsistence/confusion/or spelling errors
> 
> saw a post about an ao3 tag being 'I wrote this for me but you can read it if you like' and I feel that that applies to this whole series lmao

 

-

 

It’s very strange having Five in the garden. Like pineapple on pizza, like seeing the moon during the day, or like Dad smiling, it’s very much the presence of something in a place it probably shouldn’t be.

 

He’s reclined in a reclaimed deckchair, legs crossed at the ankles with the sun catching on the shine of his Oxfords. He wears the uniform with ease, moulded to his body like a second skin with his shirtsleeves rolled lazily up his forearms, the first two buttons undone and his tie loosened from the heat. He looks exceedingly comfortable in it, even when he’s all done-up and polished, the starched lines and knee socks somehow suiting his devil-may-care attitude, his superior catlike ego, making Klaus reckon that he was probably born in a coat and tails, just for the naturally domineering extravagance of it. And it makes him seem older too, the confident way he carries himself, the shrewd eyes of someone who knows they know more than you, a cadence of maturity unbefitting his sixteen years on earth.

 

None of them get out of the mansion very much, and while Five actually has the ability to, very easily in fact, he chooses to spend it inside, never straying too far, only using his powers for his studies. He’s potentially the most sheltered of all of them from the influences of the outside world, but you’d never know that from looking at him. Five appears to be just a glass of scotch and a smoking jacket away from going full-on middle-aged man.

 

But recently, Klaus has felt a shift in his brother, his feelers picking up the turn in atmosphere like the change in weather. Five is a mercurial being as much as he is blunt and to-the-point, but there’s definitely a tension, a bite of something lemon-sharp and pressing whenever he’s in a room with their father. Klaus can _taste_ his frustration it’s so strong, eking out of Five in barely constrained measure. It’s a true testament that he must want something, always previously displaying a tight reign of control over himself, and Klaus wonders how much longer it will go on before he snaps, the lid flying off and pot boiling over completely.

 

And he supposes that that tension must have something to do with Five being there now, all relaxed business-casual, aloof to the point that Klaus knows he’s faking.

 

Five keeps snatching glances at Klaus from over the lip of his book. It’s a book on physics, natch, held in his lap one-handed like it’s an easy summer read. Five snatches glances in a very obvious way, weighty like the beady gaze of a hawk waiting to dive, or a vulture waiting to feast. All Klaus has to do is roll over and die.

 

He puts down his pencil, laying it carefully on top of his sketchpad, trying not to alert Five that his observations have been noticed. Klaus rolls onto his back with a sigh, intentionally loud and dreamy, and runs a hand up under his shirt, lifting it a little to expose his stomach and the way his shorts sit dangerously low on his slim hips. He scratches an idle hand through the light hairs of his happy trail, very much a practiced picture of serendipitous seduction. Not that he needs it really, but the garden’s effects are either weakening on Klaus the more time he spends there, or Five is just a particularly hard nut to crack.

 

Five has been spending his evenings with Klaus all week, the both of them enjoying the lazy golden hours before the sun sets over the edge of the garden wall. They soak up the residual heat of the day after training, still in uniform and doing things that make it all seem very quaint English summer at boarding school. Five brings a book or a binder full of calculations and theories to work on, always sitting in the striped deckchair he’d managed to procure from somewhere. And Klaus usually has something keeping his hands busy, either tending to the new flowerbeds, working on some sketches, or trying to learn knitting. Grace had been teaching him, and so far he’s made a blanket square and half a scarf, planning to finish a hat and glove set for Ben before winter comes along.

 

It’s been honestly lovely, neither of them speaking very much, and it’s the most time they’ve ever spent together without causing some kind of trouble. And that’s where the strangeness of it comes in. Five is not a recreationally sociable creature in the least. He will entertain conversation if only to demonstrate that he’s smarter than you, providing scathing commentary and cutting remarks in group situations lest anyone forget, and only actively seeks his siblings when he needs to use them for something.

 

Very rarely, he will allow someone his polite, silent company for the smallest of measures, as though bestowing a reluctant gift or recharging some irksome social battery. But that usually lasts for twenty minutes at most, and he’s been letting Klaus talk at him every day for _hours_ , mostly uninterrupted until Klaus runs out of steam or the hush of the garden overcomes him. And it’s not even remotely awkward silence that befalls them, it’s downright _companionable_ , and Klaus would never have seen this coming in a million, bajillion years.

 

His tolerance of Klaus’ presence is not the only thing amiss however; Klaus has never seen his brother willingly sit so still, in one place, for this long, repeatedly. He suspects that the rousing influence of the garden is having a different effect on Five, calming him, giving him rest and respite instead of revelation and release. Five spends a lot of his time studying, sure, but even that comes with a lot of frenetic jumping, gratuitous use of his power, blipping in and out to write a note or equation or consult a book as another thought or idea or question strikes him.

 

But Klaus supposes that even Five must have a limit on how much shit he can take, judging by the acidic sting of tension and the wobbling lines of control around their father, and his recent curious embrace of Klaus and the garden.

 

Klaus turns his head to face Five, the grass tickling his cheek like a soft caress, saying in a voice deep below, _we feel you, we know you_. He realises that this must be the kind of release Five is getting, a spiritual settling and recentering, an escape from the hustle and bustle of expectation and quest. Either that or Five really is immune to the garden’s power and he just likes the sun tanning his knobbly knees where they stick out from the tops of his socks.

 

Five’s eyes lift from his book for another surreptitious glance, but they meet Klaus’ dead on. He’s finally been caught but he holds the gaze like he isn’t red-handed, like Klaus was the one who started it. Klaus searches his face for any sign of heat belying that cool mask of indifference and comes up empty. He’s inscrutable, a formidable opponent at poker for sure, narrowing his eyes the longer Klaus stares without saying anything.

 

It’s _nagging_ , Klaus wonders where Five keeps his libido stashed and how big the mountain of snow must be in order to tamp the hormones of a teenage boy, especially in the amplifier of Klaus’ garden. He’s been there for almost a week now and nothing, save for the stolen glancing, has happened.

 

It’s laughable really, the way he’s getting frustrated at Five becoming an exception to the rule, always proving different, well above the conformity of the status quo. Klaus shouldn’t be wanting his brother to be feeling horny in front of him, grossly interested to see how he would react, but here he is, challenged and very, very far over the line of what people should and shouldn’t want. He sits up. Maybe the garden does work on Five, he just needs a little extra persuasion.

 

But Five must see it in Klaus’ face, the direct demeanour of him changing from across the garden. And he beats the confrontation to him.

 

‘Very interesting place this, isn’t it?’ He’s still levelling Klaus with that flat stare, and Klaus suddenly knows that he knows. He’s known this whole time.

 

‘Vanya already told me all about it,’ he continues. ‘And I’ve seen you and Ben scurrying about like mice, looking so _obvious_ about what you’d done, all red-faces and untucked shirts. I was just curious to see how long it would take you to instigate something with me… if you ever would.’

 

Klaus cocks his head, keeping his expression absent because two can play at this game. This was definitely an unexpected turn of events, but it still leads to the question. ‘Do you _want_ me to instigate something with you?’

 

The toying lilt of his voice actually catches a slight breathlessness in Five. He worries a finger along the top of a page in his book. ‘I’m actually not sure now. There are other… factors influencing my decision.’

 

Gotcha. Klaus nods sagely, barely concealing the mirth in his tone. ‘Ah, and here I was just thinking you were uninterested in sex. That’s okay you know, not everyone wants to have it.’

 

Five’s cheeks colour in a high blush and he looks furious about it. ‘I want it. Just maybe not with you, you ever consider that?’

 

‘This garden has some powerful voodoo going on, Fives, but even it allows you some control of choice. You didn’t have to keep coming here, day after day, working yourself up in anticipation, staring at me like I’m water in a drought.’

 

Five closes his book with a snap. ‘Your ego is almost as big as mine.’

 

Klaus snickers. ‘Bet you say that to all the boys.’

 

‘It was merely professional curiosity that brought me here, Klaus, the scientific pursuit of knowledge that you wouldn’t understand,’ he says, uppity.

 

He’s feeling challenged and reacting defensively and Klaus absolutely _revels_ in it, giddy at how much he’s winding his brother up. They’re almost on an even playing field for once, the power dynamic between them slip-sliding like sand beneath their feet. Here Klaus has all the knowledge, holds all the cards of experience, and they both see in each other’s eyes when they realise it.

 

‘You’re scared,’ he says simply. ‘You can’t hide behind theory anymore, the safety of fantasy, shying away when faced with the unknown. Shame on you, Five, I thought Dad taught us better than that.’

 

It’s a very low blow, but Klaus can’t resist needling his pride, hoping that Five’s sense of arrogant competition is just as bad as Diego and Luther’s. He can’t be goaded into something he doesn’t want at least a little bit so there’s no harm in trying.

 

Five’s face steels into impassivity once more. He crooks a finger, beckoning Klaus over. ’Come here.’

 

Klaus crawls forward, smugly, to sit on his knees between Five’s legs, grateful and eager like a begging dog, looking up at his brother framed shining and gold by the soft setting sun. Five reaches a lazy hand towards him, tucks a longer curl behind Klaus’ ear and says darkly, ‘You think you know everything don’t you.’

 

‘I know enough.’ He walks his fingers casually up Five’s leg, over the warm, bare skin of his knee and just skirting the edge of his shorts. There’s no doubt that Five wants this, his test was to see if Klaus would make a move and now he has, and Five is still sitting there, bristling calm in his deckchair. ’I could teach you a few things if you want. I could give you-‘

 

‘Ah ah,’ Five shushes him with a finger to the lips and shakes his head, the sands of power slip-sliding once again. ‘Oh Klaus, you’ve done a lot of giving but maybe it’s time you do some taking.’

 

And that, that sends a shiver right up Klaus’ spine, hair all on end like a polecat. He didn’t expect such a thing from Five’s mouth, the way his eyes have lidded, and the way he’s looking imperiously down his nose at Klaus, so self-assured and commanding like that momentary blip of uncertainty never even happened. Adapt and survive, change and overcome. They all learnt that from a young age, and Five is turning on him like a tide, rushing in fast before Klaus can think to run.

 

It’s funny, everybody was so busy looking at Luther trying to mould himself into their father’s image that they didn’t see that Five had already done it. Klaus is struck suddenly by the resemblance, the detached air of Sir Reginald adopted naturally into Five, worn about him like a shroud, right up to the way he looks at Klaus, calculating his worth and what he can get from him. But where their father is dismissive and emotionless, bound by self-appointed ideals of duty and purpose, Five is untethered, beholden to none but his own whim, spurred by the vivacity of youth and the potential of his abilities. He has the world at his feet and he goddamn well knows it. It may be arrogant but it’s also powerful, and Klaus drinks it up, dizzy and absolved and _aching_ to see what Five wants next.

 

The world seems to have turned, inverted itself back again so that Five sits on top, right where he should be. Here is his brother again, knowing what he wants and getting it, an entitled prince with Klaus desperate and grovelling between his legs. Five might not have experience but he’s definitely not showing it, and Klaus is thralled enough to play along.

 

He starts unbuckling his belt and Klaus’ mouth goes dry. ‘You ever done this before?’

 

Klaus nods, eyes fixed on the way Five unbuttons his shorts, pulling them open and his underwear down to reveal the way his cock had been tucked up into the waistband. It’s angry red and leaking where it stands, leaning heavily against his stomach. He’s been hard this entire time. Klaus can’t breathe for a second, blood rushing right the fuck out of his brain. Five has been hard this entire time, Klaus just didn’t know, couldn’t of guessed from the way Five schooled his features and kept the leaking bulge out of Klaus’ sight. He might’ve been doing this for days, just waiting for Klaus to make a move, and Klaus is kicking himself. Of course Five wanted a chase, wasn’t going to give up as easily as the others did.

 

He starts stroking himself, that incredible restraint holding back a noise of relief at the contact. Klaus can’t believe he’s been like this for so long and wants to get his mouth on Five, to apologise more than anything. It’s also been a while since he’s sucked someone off and he’s salivating, the burgeoning heat of desperate arousal prickling his skin. And it’s not even being influenced by the garden, Klaus just has a wicked oral fixation and a direct line between his dick and someone fucking his mouth.

 

‘Five, can I?’

 

He’s so breathy, so wanton and eager for it, and Five can’t even bring himself to reply properly. He nods and pushes towards Klaus’ face, and Klaus leans in, raising up off his heels to reach. He can feel a weeks worth of waiting leading up to this moment, and he’s torn between giving Five the adoration that he deserves with reverent gentleness, and just taking him down all at once to satiate both of them.

 

He goes for the latter, greedy as always, taking ahold of the base and sucking the head between his lips. He meets Five’s eyes for the barest of moments before working his way down, pulling up a little and then back further each time until he finally hits Klaus’ throat. It makes Klaus want to gag but he breathes through it, and Five is practically vibrating beneath him. He’s clutching the chair, white knuckles betraying the facade of composure, but Klaus doesn’t care, doesn’t care that this is probably his brother’s first time. Better to use Klaus, gentle, loving Klaus as practice than to have someone else use them instead, the way Klaus was his first time. He hates that he can’t really remember it, but he wants Five to remember this.

 

Klaus grips Five’s thighs, the fabric of his shorts bunching between his fingers, and he relaxes his throat, working Five’s cock into it. He’s just small enough for the head to fit inside and Klaus’ eyes water in relief when his lips hit the base. Five makes a strangled sound and bucks up into him accidentally, overwhelmed by the tight, slick heat of Klaus’ throat. He can feel it spasm a few times as he tries to control his gag reflex, his own dick throbbing from the way Five tried to use him. He likes it like that sometimes, violent and unthinking, Five taking his pleasure from him by sheer selfish force.

 

So he tries to get him to do it again, to coax Five into fucking his mouth. He pulls up and shoves back down, the wet choking sound making Five gasp and his hands fly into Klaus’ hair. Fuck _yes_. Klaus moans loudly, fingers digging tighter into Five’s thighs. He’s not going to touch himself, concentrating only on Five right now, but he wonders if maybe he can come just from this. He doubles down, alternating between tight suction when he moves and the fluttering of his throat around Five when he presses down deep and holds still. It cuts off his airflow a little, the blood pulsing in his temples, making him lightheaded.

 

And Five holds his hair so tightly that it feels like he’s going to rip it from his head. It hurts but it’s that delicious kind of hurt, that ache from being used and wanted, and Five finally, finally starts fucking up into him. He jacks his hips, unsure at first, grinding tentatively into Klaus’ hold, seeing if he’s okay to take it. Klaus moans again around him, whimpering encouragement, and Five jerks harder, pulls his hair at the front to make him lift his eyes.

 

They regard each other, Five with his pupils lust-blown black and liquid, and Klaus’ no doubt the same with tears brimming from effort. Five is choking him a little with it, the hard, unrelenting shove of his cock and the angle he’s holding his head to look at him. His throat spams again desperately, his own cock pulsing in his shorts, the sticky wet of it making him shiver. He’s leaking a lot, always worked up the most by this.

 

Klaus leans forward more, hunching over against the harsh tug of Five’s grip on his hair, and he releases the build up of saliva and Five’s pre that’s been building up in his mouth, letting it run down Five’s cock and pool at the base, wetting the curls there and running over his balls. Five makes a low groaning ‘oh’ sound and shivers full-bodied at the filthy repulsion of it. He fucks up harder into Klaus mouth though, spurred on by the depravity, of how messy Klaus has made him, and Klaus lets him do it.

 

Five uses Klaus’ hair as leverage, jackrabbiting into him with increasing erraticism, his balls slapping under Klaus’ chin. He breathes harshly through his nose, never once letting an undignified noise slip like Klaus does, who’s trying to whine and mewl with abandon, cut off and choked as he is by Five’s cock piercing into his throat over and over. Klaus is properly crying now, eyes streaming from the lack of oxygen and the struggle to keep his throat open, he feels absolutely ruined and he fucking can’t get enough.

 

‘Klaus, I’m gonna-’ Five warns tightly. ‘ _Don’t swallow_.’

 

Something funny flip-flops in Klaus’ stomach at that, a flash of heat, and he tries his hardest to keep composure as Five finishes, pulling out of his throat and coming into his mouth with shallow, shaking thrusts. He relaxes back into the deckchair with a long, satisfied sound, the complete opposite of the trembling wired tension that is Klaus still kneeling with a mouthful of come between his legs, tears and saliva smeared over his face and his cock rock-hard in his shorts.

 

Five takes a minute to cool down, to make Klaus wait with agonising patience as he regulates his breathing and tucks his wet cock away.

 

Then he’s leaning forward, out of the chair and pushing Klaus around onto his hands and knees in the grass. Five reaches beneath to undo Klaus’ shorts and pull them down over his ass until they pool at his knees. Klaus _burns_ , he has no fucking idea what Five is going to do next but his words echo back, _maybe it’s time you do some taking_ , and he pushes back eagerly, face flushing horribly.

 

Five’s hand comes round in front of his face and he pushes two fingers into Klaus’ mouth. Klaus realises that Five is wetting them with the mixture of come and spit he’s been holding, and he shakes with anticipation because the idea of being fingered with Five’s come is unbearably hot and so, so dirty. He swirls them about Klaus’ mouth, gathering as much as he can, and Klaus opens up to let him take them out. He feels a thick trail of it drip over his lip, the sight of the pearlescent mess on Five’s fingers downright obscene and shockingly real.

 

‘You ready, little cow?’

 

Through the haze of arousal Klaus frowns, clenching despite not fully understanding why. Five’s wet finger taps at his hole, the wavering flutter of it, and Klaus doesn’t have time to decipher what that name means before that finger is pushing inside, worming its way into his heat, forcing open the tight muscle on its slim girth. It barely, really feels like anything, but Five moves it with intent and finds the little nub of his prostate, swollen slightly already, and brushes against it gently, sweeping the pad of his finger over and over and over.

 

Klaus drops his head and hums a moan, grinding back into it. Five shushes him, holds him still with his other hand, seemingly content to keep him just like that. He fingers Klaus for what feels like ages, that one digit rubbing and rubbing until Klaus is a whining, babbling mess. It’s sheer pressure, unescapable, and it’s making his cock drool and jerk from the stimulation.

 

‘Please,’ he moans. ‘I need- I need more.’

 

But Five shakes his head. ‘This is all you need,’ he says evenly. ‘You’re going to come from this alone, Klaus. Little slut like you can come from anything can’t you? Can you even feel it? My single finger inside you? It’s making you so wet, Klaus, leaking everywhere even though I’m barely giving you anything.’

 

Klaus gasps, shot through by Five’s words and the unbearably indifferent tone he uses to say them. He feels filthy, shameful, knowing that he is going to come from a single finger alone. It’s such a difference from everything he’s had before, every other guy wanting to break Klaus open, split him as wide as they can, and Klaus relishing every second of it. But Five yanks his expectations in the other direction, giving him barely anything except the constant rubbing.

 

‘Bet you didn’t think I knew anything about this,’ Five goads, and Klaus should’ve known better than to underestimate his brother. ‘You’re so _easy_ , and you thought you were winning.’

 

He tuts and Klaus shudders, hating him, but he wants to come, he wants Five to make him come. He’s given so much to the others but this is _taking_ , he can’t do anything else from the way Five is holding him steady. He rubs hard against him, pushing and kneading and _milking_ Klaus with that one finger. And Klaus remembers the name that Five called him just as his orgasm pours out of him.

 

He’s coming but he’s not really coming. His cock pulses and spills and his come is forced out of him in jerking spurts with each incessant caress from Five inside him. Klaus trembles, feeling the release of it like he’s on the other side of glass, a strange but draining ghost of an orgasm that fills him up with languid warmth. It’s somehow just as satisfying, mind going blissfully blank as his cock spends its last into the grass below and Five says ‘That’s it,’ in such a softly praising way.

 

Klaus can’t help it, overwhelmed as he is, and a dry sob heaves out of him, head bowing down between his heaving shoulders. His thighs are shaking, but he pushes back onto Five’s single digit because Five has let him move and is _still fucking rubbing at him_. He wants more of it, or less of it at the same time, he just can’t bear being stuck in-between. Five gets his other hand on Klaus’ cock finally, a gentle brush of his long, clever fingers across the underside, sweeping over the slit at the head, and Klaus whines, embarrassingly sensitive.

 

Five keeps rubbing at his slit too, slipping through the wet, catching his nail every now and then on the tender skin and Klaus is delirious from it, worked higher and higher inside and out by Five’s hands alone. He giggles, giddy on the endorphins, and Five presses harder on his prostate. He moans and has to bend to bite at his forearm at the jab of heat that lances through him. He’s so close to coming properly this time, and when Five digs his finger a little inside the hole in his dick, he does.

 

His body tenses up for a second and then bows into a shuddering release, fucking into Five’s touch as his cock squeezes on empty. ‘Ohh,’ he sighs raggedly, aftershocks rippling through him, making him clench irregularly around Five’s finger.

 

‘Well done,’ Five praises, easing slowly out when he’s done. ‘Look how much you gave me.’

 

Klaus looks beneath him, at the puddle of come and mess in the dirt and grass and his face flushes.

 

‘God, Fives,’ he says hoarsely, throat still wrecked from earlier. ‘How did you-? When-?’

 

Five just smirks and pulls Klaus over so he’s lying down away from the wet patch. He rubs surprisingly considerate hands over Klaus’ sore limbs where he was kneeling in position for so long, and Klaus doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at them again without shivering.

 

‘A magician never reveals his secrets,’ he says cryptically, the strange dark shroud about him melted away into his brother’s normal self-satisfied air.

 

‘As much as I love surprises, I don’t think I can take many more of them,’ Klaus huffs, exhausted and bemused, looking up at the clouds drifting across the blue sky stained with peaches and reds as the sun sets. Four down, two to go it seems.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> four down two to go y'all


End file.
